The Best Friend (13 page)

After she had exhausted every escape scenario, she thought back to earlier that evening and how that horrible drink had made her so sick. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that Brandon—or someone very vile—really had slipped something into her drink. What else could it have been? Unless there had been something wrong with the orange juice . . . and that seemed ridiculous. But if Brandon really had spiked her drink, what could she even do about it? Any attempt to report what he'd done—and who would she tell?—would simply reveal that she'd put herself in a compromising position by drinking alcohol, which was also in direct violation of the conduct code and would get her suspended from cheerleading. Besides, what proof would she have that Brandon had actually done anything? Wouldn't it simply be her word against his? And what if he was innocent?

Her head was throbbing again—nearly as badly as it had hurt earlier. She wasn't sure if this was an aftereffect of her drinking experience or simply the result of the way she was beating her head against this imaginary wall.

She could hear Megan sleeping peacefully in the bed on the other side of the room. Lishia tried to remember the last time she'd slept soundly like that—relaxed and guilt free. Would she ever be able to sleep like that again?

She wondered if she'd been a fool to confess all to Megan. Sure, Megan had promised to keep her secret, but Lishia knew from personal experience that friends (even the ones who profess to be your “best” friend) can be flaky. What if Megan decided the right thing to do (if Lishia didn't confess) would be to tell on her? Could Lishia really trust Megan? For that matter, could she really trust anyone? It seemed that every which way she turned, someone was trying to undermine her, stabbing her in the back, taking advantage. Really, besides her parents (who would be furious at her if they knew the truth), she could trust no one!

T
ime to get up,” Megan said cheerfully.

“I can't open my eyes,” Lishia said in a gruff voice. “Barely got to sleep . . . need a couple more hours . . . exhausted.”

“My mom says anyone in this house has to go to church. Unless they're sick, that is.”

“I am sick.” She moaned and rolled over, facing the wall.

“Really?” Megan sounded a little concerned. “Do you think you're still messed up from last night?”

“I don't know . . . but I know I can't make it to church. Go without me.
Please.
”

“Okay . . . but my mom won't like it.”

“Tell her I'm sick, Megan. Really, truly sick. I'm sorry.”

After a while, Lishia heard their car leaving and forced herself to get up. She needed to get herself cleaned up and out of here. Maybe she could get home while her parents were still at church. She took a quick shower, then borrowed some of Megan's clothes, which were a little big but better than the ruined cocktail dress and messed-up shoes that she stuffed into a grocery bag. Hopefully she could figure out a way to clean them and return them to Riley.

Megan's house was about a ten-minute walk from Lishia's, but each step was accompanied by an agonizing throb inside her head. Whatever she'd had last night was still making her feel lousy today.

It wasn't until she got home and into her room that she checked her phone. Of course, she had about a dozen text messages, mostly from Riley but a few from Vanessa. Both girls were mad at her, but Vanessa's sounded seriously angry.

Lishia was about to put her phone away when it rang. Thinking it would be Riley and that Lishia would need to explain some things, she answered without even looking. It was Vanessa.

“So you're still alive,” Vanessa said in a snarky tone. “Too bad.”

“Thanks for caring.”

“You're right, I don't care about you, Lishia. And I can't believe how you ruined last night's party.”

“I ruined the party?” Lishia figured Vanessa was being overly dramatic. “How so?”

“How so? I cannot believe you would act like that at my parents' Christmas party. Well, I'm sorry, but it's unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable?”
Lishia felt indignant. “Do you honestly think I had any control over that or that I did it on purpose?”

“I have no idea what you did or why. But everyone got very worried when your stupid friends showed up like gangbusters, acting like they thought we were holding you against your will. Then you were so out of it that they had to practically drag you out like some kind of skid row bum. It was so embarrassing. If I were you, I'd never show my face in public again.”

“But I—”

“Seriously, Lishia, if you can't hold your alcohol, don't drink!”

“I didn't even have one whole drink.”

“Yeah, right. You were totally wasted, Lishia! I know this for a fact because I had to clean up the nasty mess you made in our powder room. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it.”

“I—I'm sorry about that, but honestly, I didn't have more than one drink. I'm convinced someone slipped something into my drink—maybe even Brandon because he was right there and—”

“Oh, Lishia, don't be ridiculous. I've known Brandon my whole life, and he would never do something that sleazy. Besides, it was my parents' Christmas party with no lowlife losers in attendance. Well, except for you and your pathetic stunt. You managed to bring the party straight down.”

“It wasn't my fault. Honestly, I'm certain I was drugged,” Lishia insisted. “Maybe it was a date rape drug or—”

“You are starting to sound just like Gillian Rodowski now.” Vanessa's voice dripped with disgust. “You know, I hope you get kicked off the squad like she did. You really don't deserve to be a cheerleader, Lishia. Not after what you pulled last night. Did you know that your friends were all laughing at you after you were gone? You were a complete embarrassment to yourself and everyone associated with you. And thanks to you, my mom is saying I can't invite my friends to their parties. All because of your total ignorance.”

“Well, maybe that's a good thing,” Lishia said meekly. “Maybe kids shouldn't be invited to your parents' drinking parties.”

“It figures you would say something that stupid. You know, I didn't even want to invite you to the party in the first place—that was all Riley's idea. She insisted you should be there, and like an idiot, I agreed to let you come. Well, look where that got me.”

“I said I'm sorry.”

“Well, from now on consider yourself uninvited from any event that has anything to do with my life!” The line went dead.

Lishia closed her phone and sighed. Could her life get any worse? Thanks to Riley, it could. Wearing a furious expression, Riley showed up at Lishia's house just as Lishia's parents got home from church. Lishia waved at her parents in the driveway, then tugged Riley inside.

“Don't say a word about this,” Lishia told her as she led her to her bedroom.

“What on earth was wrong with you last night?” Riley demanded as Lishia closed the door.

Once again, Lishia attempted to tell the true story, even accusing Brandon of being the culprit. “It wasn't my fault.”

“I cannot believe you're blaming poor Brandon for your outrageous behavior,” Riley said. “Especially after he told me how he tried to help you, how he encouraged you to slow down the drinking. He was worried you were overdoing it—and just because you were jealous over Todd.” She rolled her eyes. “So pathetic.”

“You have got to be kidding. That's what Brandon told you?”

Riley pointed at the shoes and dress from last night, heaped in a corner of the floor like a pile of garbage. “My Marc Jacobs shoes!” She picked up a heel, then made a disgusted face as she dropped it back down. “And my dress!” She glared at Lishia. “I can't believe I thought you were my friend,” she said in an icy tone. “This is how you thank me? You get so wasted that you barf all over my good clothes? You are unbelievable!”

Lishia held up her hands. “I'm sorry about your stuff . . . but really, it wasn't my fault.”

“No.” Riley walked toward the door. “I suppose it was my fault.
Right?
”

“I didn't say that.” Lishia didn't know what to say. And her head was still throbbing. Maybe this was all for the best. Maybe this was how she could shake Riley out of her life, once and for all.

“Maybe it's time for you to put on your big girl pants.” With one hand on the door, Riley looked haughtily at Lishia. “Take some personal responsibility and own up to your mistakes.”

Lishia didn't try to hide her surprise. “Really, I should take responsibility and own up to my mistakes? That's very interesting . . . coming from you.”

Riley gave her a completely innocent look. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Lishia narrowed her eyes.

Riley arched one eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

Lishia honestly did not know what she was suggesting. It wasn't as if she thought she could threaten Riley. Seriously, that would be like playing with fire—Lishia could end up even more burned than she was right now.

“Well . . . ?” Riley's tone was pure impatience.

“What do you want from me?” Lishia asked her. “I mean, seriously, Riley, what is it that you expect from me? Do you just want me to be your puppet? You pull the strings and I do what you want?”

Riley shrugged. “Excuse me, but I thought we were friends, Lishia.”

“Friends . . .”

“Unfortunately, you keep disappointing me. And I have to say that these little tantrums and your moodiness, well, it gets a little old. Seriously, that's not how I expect my friends to act.”

“How do you expect your friends to act?” Lishia was trying to keep the disdain out of her voice, but it wasn't easy.

“Like friends.” Riley's mouth formed a smile, but her eyes were cold. “We are still friends, aren't we?”

Lishia didn't say anything.

Now Riley's smile vanished. “I do so much for you, Lishia. And in the end, you are so unappreciative. You know, I'm starting to think that you are really high maintenance.”

If Lishia wasn't so angry—and hurt—she might've laughed at that one.
She
was high maintenance? What about Riley?

“Here is what I expect, Lishia.” Riley still had her hand on the doorknob. “I expect you to get it together. I mean, you look like a pathetic mess, and I would be totally embarrassed to be seen with you right now. By tomorrow, you better pull yourself together. I expect you to be back in top form when I pick you up for school in the morning.” She made that fake-looking smile again. “Okay?”

Lishia didn't answer as she stared in wonder. What was it with Riley? But Riley seemed oblivious, simply exiting the room like she thought she was the reigning queen. Maybe she was—at least when it came to Lishia's life. And maybe Lishia deserved to be ruled over like that. It wasn't as if she had been doing a great job of running her life anyway.

Lishia did what Riley told her to do. She cleaned herself up, put on her happy cheerleader face, and for the next couple of days “ate crow” while all her so-called cheerleader friends made jokes at her expense. She pretended to take the teasing in stride and hoped that Vanessa would eventually get over it. But even Amanda seemed to hold Lishia at arm's length now, as if she were disappointed in her. By midweek, Lishia considered switching allegiance back to her old friends—the ones who had rescued her from Vanessa's on Saturday night. In many ways it would be a whole lot easier.

Except for one thing: she knew they would want her to come clean and to get her heart right with God. At least Megan would. Now that Megan knew all the dirty little details of Lishia's messed-up life, she would expect Lishia to confess her sins and turn back to God. But that would mean confessing everything to everyone, and that would be a public humiliation far worse than what Vanessa and the others were dishing out. And the sad truth was that Lishia was simply not ready for it.

But every time Lishia ran into Megan—and she was trying to avoid her—she could read the words written across Megan's face:
When are you going to make this thing right?
So Lishia tried even harder not to cross paths with her. Fortunately, it was just a few days until winter break. For some unexplainable reason, Lishia thought she might have enough time to figure things out during the holidays. At least that's what she kept telling herself. Just two more days of school, one more basketball game, and then she would take a nice long break and see if there was some way to fix this mess—or move to a different school.

The one bright spot of her week, if she could call it that, was when Gillian approached her on Wednesday morning. At first Lishia wasn't sure whether to run or even scream when Gillian cornered her in the nearly deserted locker bay.

“Don't look so scared,” Gillian said.

“I'm not scared,” Lishia lied as she held her books between her and Gillian.

“I want to apologize to you,” Gillian said in a slightly gruff voice. “Just so you know, I'm doing this because it's part of my twelve-step program. And because I realize now that I've been trying to blame you for all the times I messed up. But I know it's not really your fault.” She sighed. “It's mine. So I want to say sorry. Okay?”

“Okay.” Lishia nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah.” Then Gillian turned and walked away. Just like that. Lishia didn't even want her to go. She actually wanted to talk some more, although she had no idea what she would say.

For the rest of the day, Lishia tried to wrap her head around that surprising apology. It didn't quite make sense. Especially when Lishia knew that she owed Gillian an even bigger apology. But how was she supposed to do that? And now that Gillian was owning up to some of her own problems—and she really had had some problems—maybe Lishia's involvement in the whole thing was minor in comparison. Or maybe Lishia was just fooling herself . . . again. Mostly she didn't want to think about it right now. All she wanted was to get through the next few days. Then she would try to think about everything. And she would try to come up with some kind of an escape plan.

But by Friday, she was getting worried. It was so easy to slip back into the old routine of lies and games and being manipulated and frustrated and then feeling guilty all over again. What if this became her permanent state of being? Could she even stand herself? Could she stand the alternative? Confessing the truth would mean that the whole world would see what a dirty rotten person she truly was. How could she possibly bear that kind of condemnation?

On Friday, Lishia was walking around the school, wearing the crisp purple-and-white cheerleader outfit, which most of the smell had been eradicated from, and she could see that some kids (though not all) looked at her with a degree of respect. She liked that. Did she deserve it? Well, no . . . but did anyone?